


A Motion of Space

by UTBS279



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Darry is a good bro, Depression, Drug Use, Gen, Panic Attacks, Sibling Bonding, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UTBS279/pseuds/UTBS279
Summary: Pony is grateful for everything Darry tries to do, but ever since the tragedy, no one has been the same. One night he gets a wish, and even if it does seem dumb or unrealistic, he can't help but dream ...
Comments: 11
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Full Summary: [Time Travel AU] Johnny and Dally are dead. Soda’s quiet; a silent, lurking shadow. Two-Bit’s a walking drunk, drowning himself into oblivion. Steve’s a ball of anger, ready to explode at any moment. Darry, as always, trying to stop the seams from snapping. And Ponyboy dreams of better times.

They came in flashes — big and blurry splotches of black and white — jagged and wrinkled around the edges, like an old film playing on loop. Somewhere from beside him, whispers murmured his mind, calling out in gasps, and in a blinding, fiery rage … 

He woke slowly from this, the white ceiling greeting him once more. Pinpricks of fear danced on his skin and his heart fluttered, but after a while of laying under the soft sheets of his bed, he calmed down. Remnants of a scream were lodged in his throat, but it escaped with a small cough. 

The time read  _ 4:32 _ . 

He closed his eyes but knew it was no use. Sleep had abandoned him. He heaved himself up and headed towards his desk. Through the mess he found his journal and opened it, passing pages and pages of ramblings and heartaches to a half-blank one. 

He wrote:

_ Monday - Woke in silence. And in bed. Victory.  _

Not knowing what else to put, he reread his words and thought: was it truly a victory? Nightmares still plagued him, albeit now he made no noise. The fact he still had them was rather humiliating. He’d long hoped to grow out of this phase. At least now he wouldn’t disturb his brothers. He nodded absentmindedly to himself. Yes. A victory … 

Memories of being roughly shaken awake by Darry a nd seeing Soda’s glare firsthand were enough to stop his outbursts, but not enough to stop the thing that caused them. Soda, in another time, would’ve been proud. 

Ponyboy closed his journal and shoved those distressing thoughts to the back of his messy desk. He went to get dressed, trying his best to avoid the mirror. A stranger always stared back, and it unnerved him. Who was this person, wearing his face? Controlling his body, using his voice? 

He stared at the ground but it was hopeless. The mirror’s surface glittered at him, and he succumbed to it’s beckoning … After all, he needed to remember, needed to confirm that this stranger had not consumed him. 

The stranger looked older, worn. Tall and gangly. The hair atop their head looked cropped in this lighting, eye bags too prominent. A perpetual state of looking sickly, always feeling sickly and tired and exhausted. It couldn’t possibly be him, never him. He avoided eye-contact and dressed with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. 

He recalled the previous week when Darry had noticed the changes. It was an awkward conversation, an even shorter encounter. Darry was full of compliments, which was uncommon coming from him. Yet, the overall encounter was better than Ponyboy was expecting considering their previous tensions. Darry had been the first to notice. Not Soda. 

Pony smoothed his clothes. He thought of Soda as turned to make his bed. Soda had become quiet after everything. What seemed like regular grief had turned into something more, and now it seemed that the Pony’s mere presence annoyed him. 

Years of living with Soda had turned him knowledgeable of his behavior. He knew when he wasn’t wanted. Pony had soon after removed himself from their shared room, an action that had once again started the violence he had grown accustomed to every night but never seemed to remember. 

He finished making his bed and stood motionless. It struck him that it was Monday. Mondays were the worst. Those were the days where his tormentors would come back even stronger, wounds licked and rejuvenated from the weekend. It was barely bearable considering the fact that Steve not Two-Bit ever came to school. 

Two-Bit had stopped coming to school nearly one week after. Pony had gone to visit out of worry, only to find a mess. Two-Bit’s amiable personality shifted, turning unrecognizable,  _ dark _ ; and he now drank himself into a state of stupor. He was an angry drunk, throwing bottles and shouting and muttering nonsense. It reminded Pony of Johnny’s dad. He kept away for the most part.

Steve, unsurprisingly, had gotten colder. Pony regularly heard of the fights with his father from people at school. How they were becoming more violent. The first time he landed himself in jail, it had been a long time since they had spoken, even longer since they had seen each other. Soda and Steve barely spoke anymore, so it was easy to avoid him. 

He thought of Soda again, fighting down a wave of mixed emotions. In truth, he missed him. Missed his ramblings and laughter. The palpable joy that had once surrounded him was gone. Johnny, Dally, and Sandy had taken all of him when they had left.

Pony wandered aimlessly around his room. Thinking. Pacing. 

Darry was different too. He had changed the most out of them. Less strict and thankfully more understanding. They talked more, their fights reducing into rare things. Their small conversations helped rekindle their brotherly bond that had dimmed after their parents had died. 

Darry was alright compared to Soda, compared to everyone at this point. Darry’s only flaw was he kept insisting not to dwell in the past — as if it was that easy — , but the past was all he thought about. He’d lay in the darkness of his room, thinking of all the  _ what ifs.  _ If he hadn’t broken the rules not to stay out late, if he hadn’t fallen asleep, if they hadn’t fought. If he’d listen to Darry for once, then his friends wouldn’t be dead and everything wouldn’t be ruined.

Ponyboy shook himself and noticed that the shadows had moved. Outside started to get lighter. It was his cue to get moving, to ignore those thoughts that always bled into his mind all hours of the day, no matter how many times he banished them. He smoothed his clothes again and headed downstairs. 

It was already  _ 5:00 _ . 

He marked the time down in his mental file and reached into the top cabinet. Two pills daily —once he woke up and once before he went to sleep— and that darkness would cease to exist. At least, that’s what they had told him. 

**o-o-o**

Darry came home late, as he had been for the past four months. He looked tired as usual, faded crescent moons adorned the space under his eyes, but he tried hard to cover it up with enthusiasm that never seemed to be there. 

Pony knew better. He played along for no particular reason other than to make Darry feel better, and Darry was oblivious to it. Pony greeted him with a quick hug today, then sat back down to where he’d been doing algebra homework. 

“Have you seen Soda?” Darry asked. 

Not since Friday. “In the morning, right after you left.” A lie.

“Hm. I’ll take a shower before dinner, can you call him down?”

“Okay.”

Darry left and Pony remained. He would do no such thing. It was awkward enough between them, and had been tenser ever since a few weeks back. Their usual brother banter had escalated in a split second, with both sides hurling nasty words, and ever since then they’d stopped interacting at all. Darry had been at work, thankfully, so he had no clue. He knew absolutely nothing. Both he and Soda were set on not letting Darry know. Ever. It seemed to be working. 

Pony made no effort to move. Instead, he listened as Darry walked through the house. Ascending and fading footsteps. The door shutting. Then, the muffled sound of running water. Darry came back fifteen minutes later, dressed in loose clothing and with damp hair. He frowned immediately, noticing Soda’s absence.

“I told him,” Pony shrugged, interrupting Darry before any thoughts could formulate into words. “He wanted to take a nap.” It was all a lie, of course. But Darry didn’t have to know. 

Darry sighed in a resigned tone. “Well that nap will turn into a full night’s sleep at this hour.” He picked up the newspaper and served himself chicken with rice and beans. 

It was nearly midnight. Watching Darry read the morning newspaper was hilariously sad, depressing even. Pony looked away and stared at his work. 

“Don’t forget to take your nightly pill,” Darry said unprompted, without looking up. 

“I won’t forget,” Pony replied, without looking up. There was a lingering frustration, but he pushed it down. He hadn’t forgotten a single pill, yet Darry constantly pestered him about it. 

“It’s just a reminder, Pony,” Darry said. “People forget, even with routine. I’m just reminding you. We don’t want all that hard work to be gone in a snap of a finger because you forgot.”

Hard work. Nothing about it was hard work. Change, go downstairs to eat, plop two pills into his hand, swallow them down with milk or water or nothing. His routine had not changed. It was the exact same thing, only with one more step. So he said nothing. He didn’t have the energy to tell Darry that the pills were like a placebo. Anxiety always seemed to loom over his shoulder, waiting … always waiting for something. 

Telling Darry the truth would force him to buy expensive ones. He’d be angry or disappointed —only,  the latter would be worse. What a waste of time and money! Darry would say, then he’d sigh his resigned sigh and move on. It was too late now. Lie. Lying. It was natural at this point. Always evading the truth. He hadn’t been discovered just yet, so it was working. 

The mere thought of discovery sickened him and Ponyboy stood up, heading towards the kitchen to retrieve the pills from the top cabinet. He’d rather take a placebo than find out that no pill would ever help him. 

“I think I’m going to go to sleep now,” he said, suddenly feeling very tired. The pill was in his hand, but he couldn’t quite lift it into his mouth.

“Well, goodnight,” Darry said, waving him off, not really paying attention. The morning newspaper had him rapt. 

Pony hummed in acknowledgment and rubbed the smooth vessel between his fingers. 

**-o-**

Darry had gotten to him. His constant reminders made Pony want to do something rash. He placed his nightly pill on his nightstand with gentle indifference, and stared at it. What difference would it make to miss one night? They clearly didn’t work on him, or perhaps never would. 

An idea formed in his head and he solidified it into being. He could sell them at school, or in the shady places that Tim Shepard hung out, and make double the amount. The notion was exciting and daunting; he could contribute to the household at the expense of his future. Either do something, or do nothing and lie to Darry every day of every hour. The former was tempting. He thought about it for a moment. 

Pony opened his drawer and pushed the pill all the way to the back. 

He turned off the light, and closed his eyes. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completely forgot to post here,,,,

A half weeks' worth of pills had been haphazardly shoved into a plastic bag and hidden under his mattress. Ponyboy stood by the windowpane, face pressed against the cool surface, thinking. To wait any longer would ensure discovery, and he’d sacrificed too much at his own expense for such a thing to happen. 

After days of careful planning, he decided the best place for a shady deal like this to go down would be around Buck Merril's place. It was practical. Smart, even; there was less risk. 

Plenty of suspicious characters were common in a town like this, especially around Buck’s house. There would be plenty of shady types that would make it harder for police to single out an individual. Besides, he was sneaky. It wouldn’t be much of a challenge to slip away undetected if the cops came. 

It was Saturday night and the house was dormant; Darry was asleep, Soda was asleep. It was perfect. There was no doubt in his mind that there’d be partying on a weekend. And with partying came people, potential customers. 

It was now or never. He resigned himself to this fate. 

His heart was beating fast on account of the wretched place he knew he would shortly be in and the silence of the room. He unlatched the locks and slowly slid the window open, up and up and up. Their house was old and creaky. Every movement warranted noise. The bag he’d tucked away made crinkling sounds with every breath, and it only intensified the dread.

As soon as the breeze hit his face, he leaped out into freedom. His heart twisted in joy and misery. This hadn’t been his first act of rebellion but it felt like he was doing something truly forbidden. 

If Darry were to ever find out, he’d be disappointed in what Pony had become. A liar—to himself, to his family. Putting his future on a silver platter for the scum of the earth to ravish—for  _ money _ . What would Dally say? Would he laugh, dismissive; or do something worse? What would Johnny think? He tried to remember those dark eyes, but their images were fading in his mind. 

He wouldn’t care what Darry said, he lied to himself. Don’t think about Darry, don’t think about what the others would say… 

He ran to clear his mind; he ran and ran, into the darkness, down that dark path that would lead him to Buck Merril.

**-o-**

He heard the house before he saw it. It stood like a beacon against the night; indistinguishable sounds and colorful lights emitting from it. Pony took in the sight. The last time he’d been here was right after the stabbing … 

Some instinct, waking at these memories of fear and dread, quickened within him with every step he took towards that place of filth and sin. Always something terrible happening in those rooms. But he kept walking.  He’d come too far to give up now.

He got close to the door, ignoring  the chill and manner of this life that repelled him,  vibrating with nerves. Before he could knock, the door swung open like some greater power had been waiting just for him. But instead of salvation or absolution, cheap music and laughter and the strong, acrid smell of booze and drugs filtered into the still night. 

“What’s it to ya?” the voice said, slightly slurring. It was Buck. 

“I want in,” Pony answered. Buck was easy to convince and, remembering this, newfound confidence took hold. He’d command him just like he’d done before. Shoot, he could manage just fine … 

Buck opened the door wider, leaning heavily against the door frame, and chuckled. “You’ve gotten taller. Why are you here?”

His palms began to sweat. One too many questions already. “Just move.”

Buck snorted, looking him up and down, and shifted as if to let him pass. Then he stopped. “Your brothers know you're here?” 

He didn’t need Darry’s permission, Pony rationalized in an instant. He became the stranger in the mirror. Older, taller, bigger. A hardened look in his eyes, everything his former self had never been. One day, he’d be older than Johnny would ever be. He knew true fear, knew real danger. This was nothing. He could handle himself just fine. 

Yet, even then, the question felt like ice dumped over his head. The plastic bag in his pocket suddenly weighed him down with guilt and fickle emotion. 

He shifted and his clothes were suddenly too tight. They rubbed uncomfortably against his skin and he found his breathing too loud even for his own ears. His hands turned clammier, perspiration started to form on his back. 

He wouldn’t think of anything else than now. Not the consequences if he were caught by Darry, or by the police. He wouldn’t.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Pony snapped, keeping his voice as level as he possibly could.

Buck threw his hands up in the air. “ Whoa  there, kid, I’m just askin’. I don’t want trouble with the eldest Curtis—”

Ponyboy pushed past him while he was caught off guard, walking straight into the smoky room without any visible trace of hesitation. He ignored the gross substances that lingered in the air and soldiered on. It was now or never. 

And he repeated the mantra in his head until it became a mess of incoherent ramblings and dwindling hope.  _ Now or never. _

**o-o-o**

The smoke-filled air made it hard to navigate, but he managed to slip past the moving bodies in an adrenaline-fuzed daze. He wandered around, evading crude talk and booze, and eventually found a semi-secluded spot near the corner of the room. He resolved to wait until he saw an opportune moment, and so, not wanting to draw much attention, sat beside the stairs. 

He scanned the room, and in the sea of dancing bodies, he caught sight of a familiar character. A tall, rusty haired fellow with long sideburns. For a second, it didn’t seem to register, but when the guy turned, Pony instantly recognized who it was.

It was Two-Bit. He looked boozed up, but plenty fine. For now, at least.

It’d been far too long since they’d talked, or even seen each other. Their group had slowly grown apart after Johnny and Dally. Ponyboy didn’t blame him, couldn’t blame him. He didn’t blame anybody but himself. He suddenly remembered something Two-Bit had said a long time ago … the gang couldn't get along without Johnny. 

He’d been right after all.

Pony watched him for a few more seconds before slipping away, off to elsewhere before he could be seen by anyone else that could give him trouble, away from the memories of better times. Let Two-Bit enjoy himself, he thought, even if it meant getting drunk out of his mind every day, repeating the cycle until he couldn’t think straight no more. 

After some wandering, he found an area in the backyard that seemed to be full of potential. He heard murmurs and snippets of conversation, shuffling; he could see the glow of cigarette butts and could smell the smoke. It was too dark to tell how many guys were there. Would they gang up on him? Would they tell Darry? No. It was too dark for that. Surely, no one would recognize him. 

He got himself ready, then, and patted his stash in reassurance and stalked forward. 

“Hey y’all,” he said, cringing at his own words before recovering. “I’ve got the good stuff.” To prove it he pulled the bag from his hiding place and waved it around good-naturedly. It crinkled in his quivering hands, and he could only hope the cover of the night would hide this. His voice was confident enough, so it should’ve been fine.

One of the hoods put out his light and slinked up to him in a cool yet menacing manner. The others seemed to be watching from a distance, lowering their voice in curiosity and interest. “What is it?”

“Valium,” Pony said easily, speaking in a louder tone so the others could hear. And because he was feeling generous, he opened the bag and pulled one out, handing it over. A sample. 

The guy looked pensive as he reached for it, but before he could say anything his eyes averted and locked onto something behind him. He squinted before cracking a smile and slung an arm onto Pony’s shoulder. “If it isn’t the man himself. Looky here, boss. This kid’s got the good stuff. Look.”

Before anything could register, Pony was spun around in a blink of an eye and came face to face with another all-too-familiar character. The latter was a stranger to him in the darkness, but by the aid of a glowing cigarette tip, he could make out curly black hair, smoldering eyes, and the signature scar that ran from temple to chin. 

It was Tim Shepard. A man that was hated as much as he was feared. 

Tim’s half-forming smirk slid off his face, and he stared hard and long. He circled Pony like a predator cornering its prey, or as if he was trying to confirm if what he was seeing was real. The other hood backed right off, knowing something wasn’t right. Finally, Tim spoke. “Ain’t you Ponyboy Curtis?”

Fear coagulated his blood, and his heart felt as if it was going to burst at the seams. There was no use lying here. Tim wouldn’t fall for it. 

He shivered but held his chin up, and in the strongest voice he could muster, said, “Yeah.”

Suddenly, Tim grabbed him by the front of his pullover, lifting him off the ground, shaking him violently. They were practically nose to nose, and Pony dropped his goods in the skirmish. Two weeks’ worth of pills scattered all over the ground. He fumed at the notion that his efforts had been fruitless, but before he could say anything, Tim spit in his face. 

“What in the devil’s name are you doing here!” he said, trailing off with a litany of curses. His breath smelled like cheap liquor and smoke. “I can’t believe this.”

Pony was thrown onto the ground like a sack of potatoes. His backside stung bad and it brought tears to his eyes. He wiped off the spit with shaky hands, and he flushed from rage and shame and fear. 

Tim started talking again, this time to the others watching the ordeal play out. “All of you, get outta here. I’ll have your heads if I hear this kid’s name from anyone. Now scatter!” Then he  manhandled  Pony again, grabbing him by the armpits only to shove him to the ground again.

“Not so tough now, huh? What are ya doin’ here with that shit? I thought you were smart.” 

Pony knew. He’d known the risks and had ignored them. “Listen, Tim—”

“I can't even believe it! This is worse than when you an’ Curly played chicken.”

Pony got up, dusting himself off, raising his hands. “I said  _ listen _ —” 

“Never tell me what to do.” Tim got up in his face again and pushed his index finger onto Pony’s sternum. Hard and quick. “I don’t wanna see you here ever again, especially with that muck. Get outta here, Curtis. Cause I’m in such a generous mood to-night, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t even see you.” When Pony didn’t move, he lowered his voice. “Beat it before I beat you up myself.”

A sudden film of burning, unshed grief and rage clouded over his eyes, but he rubbed his face roughly, trying to do away with the tears that threatened to fall. He would not cry in front of Tim Shepard. He would  _ not _ cry. 

In a decisive move, Pony got onto his knees. His backside ached and smarted in this position but he shuffled through the dirt, trying to find the pills that had been scattered to God-knows-where. He could feel Tim’s incredulous stare and ignored it.

“What the hell are ya doin’ now?”

“Not letting these go to waste,” he said through gritted teeth. And there it was again, the burning sensation that culminated behind his eyes. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, and continued to rummage around.

**-o-**

After a good while it seemed things had cooled down with Tim, because no sooner than when Pony stood up to dust himself, he spoke in an eerily unbothered tone. “Want a smoke?”

A smoke always lessened the tension. In another lifetime Ponyboy would have easily accepted it, but he had changed. The mere presence of a cigarette vexed him, and he knew precisely why and when it started. It was terrifying that such a small, insignificant thing had managed to destroy his life and the lives of those he loved. 

“Nah,” he said, recounting the pills in his bag. He’d only found seven What a joke. 

“How old are ya again?” Tim asked, lighting himself another.

“16,” he mumbled, a half truth. He was fifteen-going-on-sixteen in a couple of months. Soon, he’d be older than Johnny would ever be … 

“You’re still young, Curtis. Just walk away, real easy. Now get outta here.”

The ability to form words momentarily escaped him, so he huffed in acknowledgment and turned away because nothing else would be said, and that was fine. He’d come from the darkness into that illuminating haven only to return back to it with less than what he’d come with. What a pity and shame.

**o-o-o**

He lay in heavy defeat, with an empty mind that recalled echoes of a past he’d much rather forget. The plastic bag lay on the floor, a few feet from him. A reminder of failure. They both laid there in silence. 

Pony shot up. Anger buzzed within him. Out of eighteen he’d only found seven. He’d lost more than he had bartered for. Sleepless nights, waking up in cold sweat with the taste of fear raw on his tongue. Paranoia and shadows that followed him in school, at home, always only appearing out of the corners of his eyes. The Soc’s taunting only added to the foreboding sense of doom that loomed over his waking hours at all times. All for nothing. Nothing. Then, sudden rage seized his being. 

Overcome by this intense emotion, he grabbed the bag and ripped it apart. The remaining pills tumbled all over the floor and he scrambled after them. They didn’t work and they never would. He wanted to crush them in his grip. Watch them disintegrate into nothing—Darry wasted his money for nothing. 

He popped the ones that hadn’t been destroyed into his mouth; one, two. Three.  _ Four _ . Because it didn’t matter. 

After pacing around his room for a good while, he collapsed onto his bed, the fight draining out of him as soon he made contact with the warm sheets. And before he knew it he fell into a deep sleep, and dreamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: The following info can explain some of Pony's current behavior and future behavior. (I couldn't add the sites, but I'm sure you guys can easily find the information if you're interested)
> 
> "When taken regularly, [drugs] lead to physical dependence and tolerance, with increasingly larger doses needed to get the same anxiety relief as before … If you abruptly stop taking your medication, you may experience severe withdrawal symptoms such as: Increased anxiety, restlessness, shaking; Insomnia, confusion, stomach pain; Depression, confusion; Pounding heart"
> 
> "The [drugs] work because they slow down the nervous system. But sometimes … they have the opposite effect. Paradoxical reactions are most common in children … they include: increased anxiety, irritability, agitation, aggression, and rage; Mania, impulsive behavior, and hallucinations …"
> 
> A/N: The next chapter is where it all starts to unfold folks. Anyways, thank you for reading! Comments are appreciated :)


	3. Chapter 3

He came to his senses abruptly, and as he did, an eerie feeling settled over him. He was an unfamiliar place that seemed to be the epitome of peace and perfection. And yet, an intangible sensation from somewhere within him said otherwise.

There was nothing except a lonely tree in the distance. He followed the whisper that beckoned him towards it, unafraid but wholly aware of a formidable presence lurking somewhere.

As soon as he stepped under its cool shade, something spoke to him, through him. It came from everywhere and nowhere. Relief washed over him. But it was not his own.

_ I can make your most desired wish come true, _ it expressed with such genuity that he was nearly brought to tears.

Immediately he thought of Johnny, of Dally. He'd take it all back in an instant.

He drifted for a moment, memories of laughter and innocent bickering solidified in his mind. The gang would be lazing in the living room, each doing their own thing. Out of the blue, Dally would say something raunchy. Everyone would laugh, and Darry would give him a stern look before cracking a small smile himself. And Pony would look at Johnny, at Dally, at his brothers and Two-Bit, even Steve, and think this was all that mattered.

But it was impossible. Everything had changed. His mood plummeted before disappearing altogether, and he was left reeling. The beauty of this place became more unnerving, repulsive even. Gone was that sliver of comfort, snatched away with his hope.

How could this being suggest something so hopeless? How dare it offer the impossible?

Pony shook himself off, trying to remember something else … He blinked and realized he was in an unfamiliar place. He turned to walk away, but the presence remained unfazed by his uninterest and seemed only more intrigued to follow him.

_ What if I told you I could bring them back? What if I told you, I can change it all? _

He thought of it with deep awe; such a terrible and strange thing it would be to test fate. It thrilled him, nonetheless, to think of it in the silence as the tree swayed in the wind in this false world. Somehow, he found himself back underneath its branches.

Then he spoke, surprising himself. "What are you? Where am I?"

His questions went ignored.  _ What would you sacrifice for them? _

Nothing. Anything. Everything

He settled down slowly onto the grass, relishing the peace that enveloped him, and then the whispers said  _ Wake up _ and—

He woke. The tendrils of some odd dream were escaping him. The fading echo of  _ Everything  _ rolled easily off his tongue, but he thought nothing of it. He got up and shuffled to the bathroom.

**-o-**

In retrospect, his plan to sell drugs was a failure even before he'd dared to think of it. He thought of this as he passed the mirror. The young man looking back looked like hell. He looked away. Looked like hell, felt like it too. His body ached like he'd fought a rumble and lost miserably. His hands were clammy, and his skin was dry. Something surged in him and he rushed over the toilet, clutching his stomach, dry heaving, before finally throwing up a shade of unnatural gray mixed with the natural yellow of sickness.

He flushed the toilet guilty and washed his hands for a long time. He resolved to eat, even if his stomach wasn't in the mood.

Imagine his surprise when he saw Soda laying on the couch in the living room. It was almost a miracle as it was strange.

"Where's Darry?" he asked as he stalked into the kitchen.

Soda barely glanced at him. "Work," he said.

A fire kindled within him, but he shook it off. He threw a glance at the clock and almost did a double take. It was 1:00 PM. A wave of cold alarm washed over him, and he shot another look out the window. The sun was shining brightly. He had wasted hours. 

He rushed to grab his cereal but instead met with a mocking reminder of what he'd done. The pill bottle stood there, innocently; staring at him, knowing his secrets. Darry had written a note on it.  _ Don't forget.  _ But that's all he wanted to do at this point.

"You sick?" Soda said.

"Wasn't feeling well," Pony murmured. His hunger had dissipated. And he started his hasty retreat, keeping both eyes on that forsaken pill bottle as if any minute it would jump him.

"Hmm."

He shuffled across the kitchen, trying to stay out of Soda's line of sight. Back to his room, his sanctuary. 

"That wouldn't be because you snuck out of the house last night, right?" Soda asked.

The tension was palpable. The very air was leaden with it. And yet, his last phrase, unpleasant smelling as a smoky breeze and just as jarring, excited Pony's brain. It was exhilarating in a doomed sense. A scoff escaped him. Would it be so bad if he got caught? It didn't matter anymore.

"And if it was?" Pony tested. There was no telling what Soda would do. He could tell Darry. He could keep quiet.

There was a brief pause and Pony held his breath. A solid figure replaced the TV chatter, and it stood by the archway, staring. Traces of disappointment and worry lingering on his face. Pony looked away.

Soda stared at him a little longer before averting his eyes. "Just be careful. Okay?" A cold sadness lingered in the way he said it, but Pony would be a fool to comment on it.

Momentary anger flew through him, but he said nothing and allowed the resentment to simmer. He could feel it under his skin, ever-present in the back of his mind like an unhealed wound. How dare he care? Pony thought. He'd never forgive him. Never. Not after what'd he said.

Remembering swiftly of those words that had caused such unrest and tumult in his soul, day after day, night after night, only to be met with pitiful silence and lost understanding … He shook himself from the daze, dismissing those thoughts and turned away.

**o-o-o**

Being at home was suffocating, especially with Soda around, so he spent the rest of the day wandering the streets for no particular reason other than letting the time pass. He had already wasted his day. He avoided places where the Socs hung out and mostly kept to himself. When the sky turned into an array of colors before darkening ever so subtly, Pony headed home.

He crept into the house, keen on not being caught by Soda. But before he had the chance to shut the door, Darry appeared out of nowhere sporting a grim look.

"There's some chocolate cake waiting on the kitchen counter," he started, which Pony immediately knew was in an attempt to lessen some sort of blow. A bout of unease that had bothered him ever since he'd woken rose within him. He smiled all the same, albeit a weak one.

"Why are you home so early?"

"Boss let me have the rest of the day off." Darry didn't elaborate. "Where's Soda?"

"His room, I think."

Darry nodded, then shuffled closer as Pony circled around the room and away from the door. Darry shoved his hands into his pockets. "Listen, kiddo," he said. "I've noticed some worrying behavior going on with you … "

Pony immediately thought of yesterday night. Did Darry know he'd almost been mauled, almost gotten his brains bashed in by Tim? His heart raced. Darry couldn’t find out. Shame unfurled within him but he didn't say anything, though, just watched Darry under the dim, yellow lights.

"Ponyboy," Darry continued slowly, close to pleading but not quite. "You know you can tell me anything."

The waning dread came back full force. "What?"

Now it was Darry who was staring. He smiled bitterly then. "So you’re not going to admit it."

His heart pounded even faster. He felt cornered even though his back was to the open living room. The walls started to shrink on him. This couldn't be happening. He wiped his perspiring hands against his jeans. "I-"

"The pills, Ponyboy! Why didn't you tell me they weren't any good anymore!”

Something dangerous twisted in his stomach. How had Darry found out? If he knew something as hidden as this, it meant he could just as easily find out about his rather illegal activity last night. Tim could rat him out easy and have no regrets. Soda could, too. There were plenty of others who had seen him at Buck's.

"Oh, um. Uh, I didn't … I didn't want you to feel bad. Honest," Pony stammered.

Darry's gaze softened a bit, and he finally relented. "Oh, Pony." He grabbed him by the shoulders, and then proceeded to envelope him in an awkward side hug. Which was just fine. At least Darry wouldn't be able to feel his heartbeat. "You should've told me, kiddo. I thought it was just school just stressing' you out … "

That bit was partially true. Soon after Steve and Two-Bit had stopped coming to school, he was left to fend off for himself. Pony didn't let his thoughts stray there … didn't think about how the Socs were becoming more of a nuisance everyday, pushing him into lockers, calling him unsavory names, chasing him down the street and stalking him in their Mustangs and Corvairs.

Darry steered Pony into the kitchen, and because the ordeal had exhausted him, he allowed himself to be swept elsewhere. On the table, beside the chocolate cake, stood a new bottle of pills. Pony wondered for a moment where the other bottle had gone.

"I got these today," Darry said sheepishly.

Pony stared at the sight. The sickly feeling only intensified. He didn't want to know. Didn't care for the brand, or how effective it was. He just wanted to go to bed. 

Darry lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Just try it for a few weeks. If they don't work, we'll go and get another one."

This was exactly what Pony had tried to prevent. His all-consuming efforts to hide such a thing, something that had robbed him of sleep and so much more … He nodded blankly. "I'll take some …”

Darry narrowed his eyes. "I'm serious, Ponyboy, you can't take more than one a day. Don't you even think of swallowing these in twos or threes like you do with Advil."

The same rage that had settled under his skin from when Soda had spoken to him nearly boiled over, but he restrained himself. "Don't you think I know that?" Pony said slowly. "You think I'm just gonna pop ten pills on purpose? I’m not trying to drop dead." He tried to play it out as a joke but it sounded flat.

A muscle in Darry's jaw jumped. He turned around and grabbed the pill bottle. "I'm keeping this in my room," he said, opening it and handing him one. "Here. The doc said it makes you drowsy, so take it and go straight to bed." He grabbed Pony by the shoulders and pushed him to his room.

"I didn't mean what I said … " Pony said in a soft voice as not to call attention to himself. After they passed Soda's room, Pony twisted around in Darry's grip, trying to see Darry's face. He'd made everything worse again. Maybe Soda had been right all along …

Darry sighed. "Ponyboy, it's been a long day. I'm not mad, just worried. Go to sleep. You'll feel better in the morning." Then he stepped out into the hallway and disappeared into the darkness. Pony stood in his doorway, listening as the house settled for a moment, and then gently shut the door.

**o-o-o**

It was near midnight and he lay wide awake, twirling the pill through his fingers. In a sudden bout of resolve, he shoved it into his mouth and swallowed it dry. The deed was done. He brought the covers to his neck and waited. Waited to fade away into unconsciousness and drift into an effortless haze of sleep. But then the strangest thing happened; he began hearing things, whispers and murmurs of something, just like he had in the very beginning.

He tried to rationalize it — Darry said this particular pill made people drowsy, maybe he'd forgotten to say it also induced hallucinations. Or maybe he was more sleep deprived than he'd realized.

Phantoms crawled up his arms, but nothing seemed to be there. In a panic, he tried calling out to Darry, but his voice didn’t work. He was frozen. His stomach dropped in horror. Was this what it was like to be paralyzed? Was he having a seizure? He couldn't speak, couldn't move.

A white light filled his vision, and he now couldn't see. It was blinding with intensity; all his senses were lit aflame and he felt the razing warmth on his skin. Incessant whispers of  _ Everything _ and  _ Anything  _ echoed in his ears and thrummed through him. The pulsing evanescent haze, with its warmth, drifted away and he wondered if he'd imagined it all; the light, too, eventually faded away into a soft gray and stayed gray.

The underlying buzz of murmurs and whispers dissipated for a split second before becoming coherent. He was petrified at the onslaught of the voices that suddenly surrounded him, but came to his senses just as quickly. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, he realized he was staring at a blank movie screen. He was sitting upright. He could move freely. He could feel soft leather against his skin, the cool breeze that passed through his legs.

Had he lost his sense of time? How could such a thing have happened? Pony tried sorting through his memories as he shook. He thought back to health class and all those times he'd heard about 'blackouts' in passing. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten to such a place. And everything pointed to the fact that he wasn't at home.

He got up, stumbling over his feet. He ran his fingers over the cushioned seats and held their brims to keep his balance. To ground himself.

Where the hell was he?


	4. Chapter 4

When Ponyboy stepped out from what he assumed was a movie house, the light assaulted his senses once again, and everything spun. It was a raw exit out into the world, and his very brain felt weak; his eyes were still burning so he closed them. In the darkness, he sorted through his memories, or rather, the absence of them. It was murky at best, like wading through a silted river. 

He reopened his eyes when it was bearable enough, he needed to orient himself. He looked around. Lewis Ave. He glanced up. The Circle Cinema. He blinked multiple times, and the big red letters that loomed overhead solidified. Paul Newman. He stared at those words, and soft dread washed over him. It didn’t make any sense. Nothing made sense.

Pony stood still, watching the people wander by. Couldn’t they feel the wrongness that settled deep within his bones? Surely someone … Darry came unbidden in his mind then, and realization dawned on him like a day anew. It slotted together. Darry. The new pill. Warm drowsiness before torment overtook his soul.

He shivered. Rubbed his arms. The feeling remained, so he shifted all his thoughts all on Darry. Darry would know what had happened to him. Determined to get home, Ponyboy settled for a slow and steady stride. He took a step forward and swayed. He straightened and tried again; his knees buckled slightly, but he did his best to ignore it and kept onward. 

**-o-**

He inched down an empty alleyway, a mere two blocks from home, when something in his peripheral caught his eye. He paused for a moment, turning to get a good look, and it suddenly got harder to breathe. 

A red Corvair trailed not too far behind.

This couldn’t be happening. The Socs wouldn't dare jump him. Not ever. Not again. But it was perfect. He was alone now, isolated in this never ending stretch of road. The Socs seemed to know about this loneliness, and not just here and now. Steve and Two-Bit had long left him to fend off for himself at school, and without them, the Socs had become relentless; their snides without mercy; their shoves, bolder and rougher in the hallways than ever before.

He was conscious of the impending danger, and this knowledge sickened his heart and made his legs go heavy. He was still disoriented, unbalanced. Clearly outnumbered. There was no use in fighting. 

He watched in silent terror as they lumbered right over, murmuring jovially. The malice of evil glittered in their hard eyes; they moved in slow circles, circling closer and closer, to enclose, to trap. Surrounding him like snakes, smiling, baring all their teeth.

Pony wanted to rub his eyes until the snakes disappeared from his vision, and when they'd gone he’d laugh himself sick because the snakes would’ve been nothing but the product of a wrong fix. He’d need to talk to Darry about the appropriate dosage.

They hissed, cursing and spitting, swiping at him. His heart did a strange flip looking at their vile faces, and he tried to ignore how hauntingly familiar they looked—everything looked familiar today. Perhaps another side-effect of the new pill. 

Suddenly one of them pulled out a blade, and it all became strikingly real.

“Need a haircut, greaser?" 

Those damning words struck him like a physical blow, and he instantly tried to get away, but of course he backed into one of them. He went down easily, and he didn’t fight, couldn’t. He closed his eyes so as not to see their rage, inviting the darkness of unconsciousness to shelter him as it had done before. But it didn’t work. 

They punched him in the face, pulled his hair. They kicked him in the stomach and he swore he could feel something forcing its way up, up, up, and out came a desperate scream, calling for Darry. Darry would save him. 

Hands tried covering his mouth but he bit their fingers, hard, and without mercy like they had with their wicked words. Satisfaction was as warm as the liquid iron coating his tongue, but it was short-lived. A firm and solid object pressed against his throat, and his struggles, along with his voice, dried up like dust. 

Those bastards were actually going to do it. He was going to die here, out in the streets, wild and desperate like Dally, young and forlorn like Johnny, and Darry would be devastated—

Suddenly, there were shouts and the gravel crunched against his ears. The cruel hands let go and he lay there, breathless, feeling the wind move frantically around him. People were jumping, running over him. Another set of hands gripped at him, hauling him to his feet. They were no less rough, but Pony knew who it was. 

"Are you all right, Ponyboy?" Darry shook him. Pony felt the world spin even through his shut eyes. 

"Stop shaking me, Darry, I—” Everything was happening too fast, something caught in his throat. If he spoke any louder, he’d throw up all over Darry’s shoes. His voice dropped considerably. “I’m okay.”

Darry stopped. He was quiet for a moment before saying, "They didn't hurt you too bad, right?"

They had. Pony ached everywhere; his whole body throbbed, he was a giant bruise. But he didn’t want to worry Darry. He took a deep breath, trying his best to regain his composure, and opened his eyes. Darry was giving him a steady look, which was strangely reassuring. He seemed to be handling it better than Pony was expecting, probably in an attempt to calm him down, so Pony held back the hot tears and the cry that scalded his throat.

He couldn’t believe they had done it again. They tried to kill him again. Using the same words, the same situation. Oh God, he was going to be sick. “They did it again,” Pony choked out in a low whisper. 

Darry’s eyes turned steely. “What the hell do you mean—”

Someone threw an arm around his shoulders. Pony nearly stumbled over with the force of it. He turned wildly, ready to run, ready to escape, this time he had Darry with him. But instead of a Soc, he came face to face with Sodapop. He turned Pony’s head, examining him. "You got cut up a little," he said in a matter-of-fact voice.

Pony said nothing. A spark of anger surged, but exhaustion made it flicker, and it died just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only confusion in its wake. He stared in disbelief as Soda pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed gently at his neck and chin. 

He shot a look towards Darry, and Darry stared straight back, looking at them expectantly. Pony finally got it. They had to keep up appearances after all. He tried his best to relax but failed miserably. Soda was trying too hard. It made him nervous all over again. 

“They pulled a blade on you!” Soda exclaimed as if it wasn’t obvious already. He brought the handkerchief eye-level, and Pony took in the sight. Deep, dark red. He licked the inside of his mouth and felt the lingering aridity of blood. Still he said nothing. 

Soda must’ve taken his silence for fear, or something akin to it, because he tugged him closer. Pony felt himself tremble against his chest. It was involuntary. "Easy, kid. They ain't gonna hurt you again."

It was the wrong thing to say apparently, because it set Darry off. “Ponyboy, explain to me what you meant by ‘again’.” Darry said. Impatience laced his words, he kept crossing and uncrossing his arms. It was strange. “Walking by your lonesome _again_?” 

Soda took a step back, and looked back and forth between them. Pony didn’t understand either. The world was fizzing at the edges. He just wanted to go home, ask Darry about the pill there. “What do you mean?” 

Darry narrowed his eyes and raised his chin. Pony knew that face. He braced himself for a lecture and all that came with it, but as Darry opened his mouth, the pounding of feet and whoops and calls cut him off. 

"Didya catch 'em?" Soda called, turning. 

“They got away,” a familiar voice replied, then proceeded to let out a string of curses. 

Pony twisted toward the source, thinking back to the night he’d snuck out. He’d been expecting Two-Bit, meek and quiet, but instead saw Two-Bit and Steve. They stood side by side, looking hearty, the wild look in their eyes had vanished. Steve’s hunch was less prominent; he looked less worn, less hostile. Two-Bit definitely looked better than he did a few nights ago. He had a small, worried smile, but at least he didn’t look gaunt, or pale; the lines that marred his face had faded into nothingness. They were shoving each other and mumbling something too low to hear.

Pony’s eyes flickered to movement behind them, and the color leached from his face like melting wax. 

Another sort of fear settled over him. Not an adrenaline-fuzed fear, but a cold realization that froze his body. Despair followed, and it crawled up his throat. A violent wave of nausea shook him. It was impossible. He rubbed his eyes roughly even though his face hurt an awful lot. Only, when he opened his eyes, they still stood there, looking at him. 

“The kid’s okay?” Dally said. He lit a cigarette and handed it over to Johnny. Johnny inhaled and exhaled, and a puff of smoke escaped him. Rising up and up and melting into the air. 

“You’re okay,” Soda said confidently, and nudged him a little. It hurt, but he didn’t say anything. His mouth felt incredible dry. Pony felt trapped suddenly. The shivery, hoarse whisper of Johnny’s last words, the echoes of a gun spitting fire into the night. The sounds solidified and vibrated around him.. He felt the climbing heat that tore at his lungs and scorched his skin. It was a never ending storm of dark flames and dark smoke of burning wood. The cigarette would destroy everything, but it hadn’t just been the cigarette, he’d caused all of this, it was all his fault—

Darry spun him. He looked more annoyed now. “Ponyboy,” he said tightly, “if this isn’t the first time, don’t you think it would’ve been smart to carry a blade? Don’t you ever—” 

Darry was acting out of character and Pony didn’t like it one bit. It was strange seeing him like this, tense, a hardened look in his eyes. Perhaps he’d been spooked too. “Darry, I want to go home,” Pony choked out. Going home would solve things. 

Steve and Two-Bit had stopped their banter, and were now looking at him. Pony felt the creeping hysteria. He turned his back to the horrifying hallucinations, trying his best to ignore their presence. Everything was wrong. He was going to throw up. 

“Ponyboy are you okay?” Soda asked. He tugged him closer, inspecting him. He raised his handkerchief but Pony swatted it away weakly. Soda looked hurt, but it didn’t matter. “Darry, please.” The world was collapsing in on itself. Pony’s breathing turned harsher now, sporadic. The ghosts continued to stare at him. They started to creep closer and closer … 

Concern immediately replaced Darry’s irritation. He reached out hesitantly. “Ponyboy—”

Too late. He emptied his stomach all over Darry’s shoes and his legs gave out. Soda lunged forward, but Darry caught him and gently lowered him to the ground. Ponyboy found himself staring back up at the sky. Shadows surrounded him. 

“What’s wrong with him?” one shadow asked in a soft voice. Johnny. He stepped closer and the sun shone from behind him. Pony let his eyes slip shut. His eyelids trembled as if they felt the very movement of the earth, trembled as if they felt the radiating warmth of something unnatural. He just wanted to go home and lay in bed. The ground hurt his back and made his muscles ache. 

“He’s got a mighty fine bruise,” Two-Bit said, trying to sound lighthearted, but his voice had a slight edge to it. “Darry, did you see what happened?” 

“I didn’t see much,” Darry admitted. “Ponyboy. Can you hear me? Soda give me your handkerchief, quick. He’s bleeding.” Darry roughly dabbed at his chin and neck. Pony recoiled slightly. It stung. “Those damn, Socs … ” 

Soda’s voice became louder. He’d probably gotten down onto his knees. “Everything’s gonna be alright, Pony.” Hands gingerly touched his cheek where the bruise was forming. “He might have a concussion … ” Soda trailed off, and Pony could hear the unsaid words. The possible implication. He didn’t want to go to the hospital. Hospitals were where people died. Where Johnny had died. 

“No hospital. Home,” Pony croaked out. His mouth tasted rancid. He licked the inside of it, but the dryness wasn’t alleviated. Two-Bit laughed and Steve groaned. “Of course he does.”

“So the kid finally speaks.” Dally’s voice sounded closer than before. A soft wind blowing directly into his ear, smooth and warm. Pony shivered. He couldn’t help it. 

“Ponyboy, can you stand?”

“No.” He could barely open his eyes, how did they expect him to stand? 

The clamor of voices echoed, then dimmed. Darry was still talking, but Pony couldn’t make himself even muster the simplest of sounds. Sodapop smoothed a hand in his hair. There was a low murmur, too weak to be heard. It made him think of Johnny again. Johnny had been soft spoken. 

He was fading from this world. He opened his eyes for the briefest of seconds, and the sea of colors was washing away, blending together to make a dirty color that turned dark, darker and darker. Black. He would fade into nothingness, into something impalpable under their eyes. Then all the voices ceased; they had gone. A dark silent air descended upon him, progressing slowly and gently, and unconsciousness finally took him into her embrace. 

**o-o-o**

He was walking and walking and walking and walking and—

He halted suddenly and heard nothing, not even the beat of his heart in the silence. Was he dead? He didn’t feel dead. Had Johnny and Dally experienced that same thing in the time of their demise? 

He continued walking and the thought slipped away as if it had never existed at all; he walked, kept walking, and finally, after an eternity of walking, in the distance he saw a lonely, familiar tree in an unfamiliar place. 

He felt above him the vast indifference, the vastness of nothing and everything, the hesitant bodies of other worldly things. The presence lingered somewhere, hidden, watching. Pony lowered himself down onto the grass, underneath the endless intertwining branches of the mysterious evergreen. The eerie feeling that had settled over him in another life had gone. His soul had swooned into some new world, he was sure of it. A fantastic, vivid paradise.

_Are you happy?_

Something wanted to burst from him but he couldn’t place the feeling. He was not happy. He was happy. He didn’t know. He couldn’t hear the beating of his own heart … Pony pressed his hand against his chest. He couldn’t even feel it. Was he dead? 

_You said you would do anything for them._

Yes. He remembered now. He’d give everything, anything. For what?

A soft whispering noise floated down and tickled his ear. He could feel it! He remembered Dally then, and how his voice had struck him odd, had bothered his ear. Had that been real? Dally. Dally and Johnny. He’d give anything for them. 

_And you have._

What had he given? Pony racked his brain, tried to call forth some moments but found himself incapable. He recalled only names. Johnny. Dally. 

The branches trembled above him. There was a deep rumble but he felt nothing. Perhaps it was the being’s laughter, a high-pitch laugh, now too low, tarnished by time, humbled by immortality and eternity. Pony couldn't locate the source. 

_Wake up._

He woke.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh, so I didn’t update for two months. Pretend I did :) 

Towards dawn he woke—or was it dusk? The sun was low in the sky and it cast sharp shadows across the room, but it was all wrong. He’d spent too long doing nothing, laying motionless in bed, feeling the hours turn into days into weeks into months—reminiscing on things that would never be—not to notice something amiss. The air itself felt lighter; the bed was in a different position; the heap of clothes strewn across the floor was familiar but not his. 

It made sense. He was in Soda’s room. Only ... nothing made sense. He didn’t belong here, wasn’t welcome here anymore. Where was Darry? Had he really seen … them? He sounded out each letter. J-O-H-N-N-Y. D-A-L-L-Y. The names tasted foreign but welcome on his tongue. Oh, how he wished to use their names once more, with purpose, without having a knife run into his spine and out his heart with the mere thought of just their names. Johnny. Dally. 

But no, it couldn’t have been. He regained his senses and shivered. Just a hallucination; the drugs drawing from the crevasses of his mind where all the hurts lingered, using his soul’s weakness and twisting it. A dream (having them alive) turned nightmare (knowing nothing would ever be the same again.) 

It didn’t matter right now. He needed to leave quickly lest he met an irate older brother. He winced sitting up. Muscles cried out in protest. An itch started at his cheek and he went to scratch it only to feel soft fabric: gauze. His hand flew to his neck. More gauze. 

He moved brazenly then, suddenly comprehending the immensity of the situation. His breaths quickened on their own accord—it was desperate hope unfurling in him, or nerves; and he ignored the twinge in his ribs with every inhalation and exhalation. He recognized this dull ache, knew it too well even having experienced it only once (twice?). No. 

He squeezed his eyes shut. No. No. He stood slowly then, and everything was wrong again, except it wasn’t the room that was wrong, nor was it the world permeating wrongness like it had in the beginning. He was wrong. 

It was those blasted pills, making him feel more like an imposter, a cheat, unsettled in his own skin. Making everything worse. What had Darry given him? Pony glanced at the door and headed towards it. 

**-o-**

The journey downstairs invoked within him a mixture of dread and anticipation. Every murmur and quiet huff of amusement made him tense like he was intruding on something intimate. Laughter was unusual in a house where silence had made its home long ago. Who was laughing? And why? Darry never invited people over. Unless … 

The voices made him feel strange; the closer he got, the stranger he felt. Auditory hallucinations. He’d learned of those in health class. Another additional symptom to the growing list. It must be. 

He entered the kitchen, shuffling across to the opposite end and as far away as he could from their apparent origin in the living room. Darry hadn’t turned from his place at the sink. Had his steps been too soft? No, he was being paranoid. Right. The pills. 

He took a step and something barreled into him. It happened too quickly to be surprised. He tipped over onto the hard kitchen floor, jarring his bones and leaving him breathless once again. Uncontrolled laughter rang loud in his ears. 

“Watch it, Two-Bit!” Darry said heatedly from above. “You don’t want to give him another concussion.”

Green eyes met his own. Too bright. Too close. What was Two-Bit doing here? All the questions were beginning to get jumbled in his head.

“Oops. Didn’t think that one through,” Two-Bit said, grimacing. Pony got a whiff of breath—crisp and clean—before Two-Bit rolled off and got up, extending his hand. “C’mon.”

He was on his feet in an instant, and he concentrated on anything else other than the reignited throb in his body; running water, crumbs on the floor, Two-Bit’s crooked smile, the fading light from outside— What time was it? 

Darry turned to Two-Bit; a quick nod, a silent message. Then Two-Bit was leaving and the murmuring resumed from somewhere in the living room. So there were people over. Darry looked at him intently, and Pony could feel the scrutiny. He touched his cheek and felt gauze. Right. 

“Pony, sit down. We need to talk.” 

Pony glanced towards the living room, mindful of the company, but he couldn’t see much from where he was sitting. He sat down, and slowly said, “What time is it?” His voice was hoarse. 

“It’s 7 o’clock.” Darry frowned momentarily, caught off guard. Ponyboy counted with his fingers, too dazed to think properly—he’d been out for too long, almost an entire day—, and watched Darry pull out Advil, twirling and twisting it in his hands before settling it onto the table and sliding it over. “Listen, Pony. We’ve talked about this—”

No, they hadn’t. He couldn’t get distracted again. Soft, but firmly, he said, “We need to revert back to the other pills.”

“That’s not a good idea.” Darry frowned harder. “Anyways, Ponyboy.” 

Darry didn’t understand. What was the right way to explain that a single pill had crumbled his world into nothingness and he had ceased to exist— Darry wouldn’t understand. He hoped he wouldn’t have to elaborate on the side effects. 

“Darry … ”

A hand slammed onto the table and the voices died out immediately. Dread consumed him. Darry was acting strange, on edge, just like him ... Were they both imposters in this world? Maybe he knew. But it didn’t make sense. He’d nearly reverted to his previous self, before everything. No. It was the nerves. Witnessing your younger brother get jumped would be scary in any situation. Pony took a shallow breath to get his breathing under control. He understood. He could be quiet. 

“Ponyboy,” Darry said. His voice sounded brittle. “You’re right. I don’t understand—” 

“Darry,” a new voice said. It was Soda. He came rushing from the living room, a ball of rage concealed behind a tight smile and a frenzy of movements to distract from the palpable tension in the air. “You said it yourself, Dar. He has a concussion.” Soda gave his best concerned look, but Pony wasn’t fooled. 

“Don’t interrupt me,” Darry said. “I just wanna know.” His gaze was piercing. “Why go walking by your lonesome when you know the situation with the Socs’? And why the hell didn’t you tell me you were jumped before!”

With less than a blink, Soda’s face changed; the facade dripped away just like Pony knew it would, and anger was quick to rise. “You got jumped by Socs before and didn’t tell me!?” The voices started up again at Soda’s outburst, this time sounding more heated. 

Pony didn’t know what to say. Darry had been there after all. Soda too. Was this a test? He was being tested. The world was waiting for him to slip up. The world knew he was a liar. Fraud. Darry kept staring at him. Could he see all the lies that tainted his soul? He held his breath and he stopped hurting. 

“Fine, don’t tell me.” Darry stood abruptly and pointed to the Advil. It was a silent demand to take them. Pony nodded and exhaled. He’d take them. He’d do anything to dissipate the tension and lingering suspicion he had caused. 

Soda followed Darry out, trying to catch Pony’s, but he pretended to be engrossed by the Advil label. He shook the bottle lightly, inspecting it. He wondered the fate of the original pills. And what of the new ones that turned his mind into nothing? It didn’t matter. He never wanted to take them again. That singular pill had done what the others could never do: drove him crazy so he would not lose his mind. Darry could never know. 

Movement came from the living room and his skin prickled. 

Two-Bit had repositioned himself into his view and was waving from the couch. Oh yes, the guests. Pony craned his neck a bit and saw Steve. Half of his face was visible, and he was giving a death glare and shaking his head. There was a flash of white blond hair, and beyond that, black wisps— He looked away. 

Someone entered the kitchen and pulled out a chair in front of him. Two-Bit again. What did he want? 

“Shoot kid, why the hell didn’t you tell us?” 

The world had been reset. Apparently no one knew anything about the first time. He gave Two-Bit a long stare, waiting for him to break out into a fit of laughter. Got you! He’d scream. Only, nothing happened. Two-Bit stared right back, a misplaced wounded look in his eyes that made Pony miss the rage within them. 

Pony looked down at the pill bottle and shook it around. Their rattle was comforting in a way. 

“You gonna take some?”

He didn’t know. Would these blue and red patterns mimic the helplessness he felt under the razing heat and blinding light? No. Darry would never do that to him. Not even before. They were just Advil. He became lost in the rememories of that horrid time and then someone said his name, and he looked up and Johnny was there. He came back to himself and realized everyone was there. Two-Bit right across him. Steve poking through the fridge. Johnny, just an arm-length away, and Dally a little bit farther. 

He wanted Darry back now. Darry would know what to do. 

He tried to ignore the hallucinations but was unable to. He watched with sick fascination; would their skin crumble just as that church had? Would he touch them and watch them collapse into dust? Would they simply disappear into thin air and he’d continue to exist as if nothing had happened? He needed to get closer. To confirm their smoothness.

He expected nothingness as he reached for Johnny’s shoulder, but it was solid. A faint sickness of awe made him feel weak even though he sat on a hard wood chair. How was this real? He placed the pill bottle onto the table and felt the hard surface on the chair. This was real. This was real. He was excited and breathless, and a lump formed in his throat. 

“You okay, Pony?” Johnny gave him a confused look. 

“Are you okay?” he echoed back.

They were whole. Or at least, Johnny was. Dally was staring at him from the entrance of the kitchen. Steve rolled his eyes and the lump started traveling up his throat, threatening to make an appearance. 

Bathroom, his mind supplied, but no words came out. He stood suddenly and all eyes were on him, looking him up and down, up and down, through him—could they see the darkness festering inside? Dally raised an eyebrow, looking bored. Pony went. 

**-o-**

The figure in the mirror was another stranger. He felt too old for this body. His eyes were lit with a naivety that preceded the knowledge and reality of having to witness two friends die in front of him. Such a monstrous reality, peopled by ghosts and antagonists in nice clothes with evil eyes, wanting to hurt him, knowing he was an imposter here; the foul words he had written hidden in his room, letters of hate and anguish and fear; and pills upon pills he had consumed in the stillness of his own house to quiet the world around him, or sold for money for new pills that didn’t work and never would. Mad! Mad! Had he really done such things? What had he turned into? Darry would be devastated if he found out. What would Johnny say if he discovered this depravity? Thinking of Dally’s reaction caused him greater distress.

A cold sweat broke as the abhorrent memories condensed within his mind. He splashed water on his face but it did little to dissuade the hot shame. This was a chance to restart. He couldn’t let anyone know he didn’t belong here. 

It took him three tries because adrenaline coursed through his hands and body. He couldn’t stop moving. He kept splashing water into his face and finally peeled the gauze from his face. 

He had been reborn. 

The knocking startled him. “You okay in there, Ponyboy?” Why did they keep asking him that? He was fine. They needed to worry about Johnny and Dally. They could disappear at any moment. 

Soda opened the door and they made eye contact through the mirror. He smiled and raised the familiar blues and reds. Blue and red, purple. On his skin, on his face and arms, and legs—from the Socs! That had happened. He kept forgetting where he was. He smiled too, unable to contain the excitement. He was happy and nervous and young and scared and willful and wild-hearted, surrounded by those that had once known him. But he was also unmistakably alone. 

“Two-Bit said you hadn’t taken any yet,” Soda said. 

Pony nodded. But he needed to do something. Now was time to confirm Dally’s solidness. And he needed to check on Johnny again, only Soda wouldn’t budge from the door. His good mood disappeared, replaced by the familiar simmering under his skin. Soda had said things, but he was wrong. Johnny and Dally were here. Alive. Just … Pony needed to check them again. 

“Ponyboy,” Soda said. He uncapped the bottle and out came two pills. “I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be.” He forced his hands steady and plucked the pills from Soda’s hand, swallowing them dry. 

Soda reeled. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me about this!”

He didn't understand either. But some things don't need explaining. He looked around, suddenly, worried, feeling invisible eyes on him. A subtle, murmurous presence penetrated his being and he slipped beyond. If he questioned this, Johnny and Dally would disappear and everything would go back to the way it was. Now that he had tasted this reality, he would do anything never to go back to that place where the soul was plunging ever deeper in its dull fear, while his body continued without his mind, listless, gazing out of darkened eyes, helpless. 

“Don’t worry, Soda. Everything’s okay.”

With renewed passion and liveliness, he stood straighter. He would stop wallowing in this self pity and would simply forget all those words he’d said and had been said to him. Yes, just forget. He would lock himself in his room and stare at the wall for hours, not to remember, but to forget. He would restore himself to when death had been nothing but a single, isolated, tragic incident with his parents and nothing else. 

He would destroy anything that remained from his past life; that journal full of nonsense and ramblings hidden in his desk would be the first to go. 

He could do it, he must. The stranger in the mirror would be a stranger no longer. 

He would change things, and the promise he’d made to Soda would be fulfilled. Everything would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be more sporadic because of school. Big thanks to IronDadSpideySon5, my new beta, who motivated me to write. 
> 
> \- I updated all the previous chapters before this one, adding bits and pieces.  
> \- I also recently got discord to play Among Us, so if anyone’s interested lmk ;)


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